


King Darith and the Fall of the House of Spring

by Mání (Maniravsadhur)



Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Aelgar, Futurefic, Gen, Kharendor, Pastfic, Poetry, Shadow Coast, Shar Honelle, Tarabon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:21:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24000526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maniravsadhur/pseuds/M%C3%A1n%C3%AD
Summary: A short epilogue to the Wheel of Time, where we learn a little about the Shadow Coast's past and catch a glimpse of its possible future. It all begins with the story of King Darith and the Fall of the House of Spring, as sung in High Chant by Thom Merrilin...
Relationships: Moiraine Damodred/Thom Merrilin
Kudos: 4





	King Darith and the Fall of the House of Spring

O Kharendor’s beloved jewel!  
O King Darith, o lord of old!  
The land bemoans your golden rule  
Its downfall alas long foretold

Aelgar’s glory but in your name  
Has fade away to rise anew  
From late House Chaemen’s heart and fame  
Soul and spirit revived in you

Lo! Hear the tale of Darith King  
Wherein our hopes forever dwell  
Who once flame of the House of Spring  
Under the boot of Artur fell

By prophecy ten centuries gone  
His fate thus sealed could not evade  
Outlast shall he the madman’s fang  
Only to die from the hawk’s blade

*****

Broken, shattered the world once lay  
Destroyed all hopes of age foregone  
But in those entrails dark and grey  
Slept sap and ore hither and yon

Of gold and diamond, iron, lead,  
Riches undreamed of, elixirs  
Of life then poured in boundless spread  
For another thousand years

Aelgar then stood prosperous and tall  
O’er mounts and sea and land fertile  
And there a hundred shimm’ring hall  
Marked Shar Honelle the Light’s own smile

Fairer city was never seen  
As sit astride a pass so high  
One leg over land evergreen  
One leg steep above ocean spry

From seven Singing Towers flew  
To be heard in the farthest fells  
Three times a day without ado  
The chime of seven silver bells

There came from all the world over  
Gleemen, minstrels, singers along  
Their art to forge and bemaster  
In the Academy of Song

From walls to domes of white and blue  
Of crimson red rock her stone lace  
Golden banners in the wind flew  
O Shar Honelle, o utter grace!

Ancohima, Mainelle white,  
And Condaris all stood apart  
Gems in the crown of Aelgar bright  
Gems of the world, its very heart

Grave and glorious th’ Aelgarian stood  
Wise of council, deep in their thought  
Scholars, builders, seekers of good  
Never saw what Fate ‘pon them brought

*****

Protected by its mountains tall  
Aelgar survived the trolloc host  
Yet weakened by such heavy toll  
Never regained opulence lost

Ever flowing rivers of ore  
Now seemed to carry naught but dust  
Fortune dispersed forevermore  
The land exposed to wars unjust

Aelgar the free, favoured by Light  
Aelgar fearless, herald of laws  
Aelgar fair blessed with such height  
Aelgar dwindled, then no more was

*****

For five score winters all stayed still  
All ties severed, populace strewn  
How haunting on the haggard hill  
The silence of the piper’s tune

Of men’s glory little remained  
Lone walls fallen and trees entwined  
Farms abandoned, palaces maimed  
Covered by snow’s forgiving shrine

Then from exile forced returning  
Through gates ajar and foulest fen  
Appeared figures to ghosts akin  
The descendants of House Chaemen

After decades on strange soil spent  
Never letting hope aground  
Indomitably onward bent  
Fortune regained saw them homebound

Shar Honelle fair soon shone anew  
Her Ogier grove back in splendour  
Thus lived again not Aelgar true  
But its east most coast - Kharendor

For so was dubbed the land reclaimed  
By its rulers, now House of Spring  
Kharendor – for the Hand Aflame  
Of House Chaemen, breeder of kings

And kings were crowned sixty and eight  
Eight hundred years was peace maintained  
Afore the dynasty’s most great  
And last of them, Darith, was named…

As the gleeman’s inspired words died on his lips, he kept his eyes closed for a minute. Thom Merrilin had not sung in high chant since his finest days as a court bard in Andor. That took him back almost twenty years, if he was not mistaken, but he could have sworn a lifetime had passed – and indeed it had, in a way. What did he have in common with the successful, still youngish man who had charmed high-born crowds with his talent and conquered a queen’s heart? For a fleeting moment, Morgase’s beautiful traits formed in his mind, and it was as though he really was back in Caemlyn’s royal palace, performing before the distinguished audience gathered to celebrate the end of the Aiel war.

Yet as he opened his eyes, all he saw was the somewhat stupid faces of a couple of farm boys bent over their half empty glasses of beer. The Silver Stallion was as fine a village inn as could be, but it was certainly the first time high chant had ever resonated between its walls. At the beginning, the room had been almost full with patrons of course – a gleeman was always a much appreciated distraction, in southern Tarabon like elsewhere, and Thom was no ordinary gleeman. But when people finally realised that there would be none of the usual juggling and singing and storytelling they had expected, they left one by one, to the innkeeper’s growing despair, until only the most inebriated remained.

Of course he had expected no enthusiastic welcome to his deed – high chant’s language and musical form were far above what mostly uneducated country crowd could begin to grasp, let alone appreciate – but he couldn’t help feeling some measure of disappointment. Maybe he had been misguided by the constant flow of love and understanding he had felt during the whole performance. A warder’s bond was a bewildering thing he was still not entirely accustomed to, and sometimes he still had trouble distinguishing between his own feelings, those brought to him through the bond and those he thought might be coming from people around him. But when he came down the improvised stage after saluting with his patched cloak in his usual, flourishing way and went straight to the smiling face of the woman he had come to love, he knew the beating in his chest to be his own. The Thom Merrilin he had now become did not have it that bad after all.

It was a measure of the change he had undergone in the recent months that he didn’t even try to explain his frustration. Moiraine already knew what he felt, there was no need for him to put it in words. And of course she had a far longer experience of the relationship an Aes Sedai and her warder could develop, but as far as the bond of marriage was concerned, she was the unexperienced one. The short woman took Thom’s hand in hers over the table and poured him a glass of wine from the pitcher as he sat down and set his harp back in its case. The bright, multi-coloured silk gown she wore as a tribute to her husband’s chosen profession made her seem more petulant than she used to when she still favoured blue garments.

Moiraine’s calm voice still possessed that soothing quality he had always admired in her. “You cannot expect them to enjoy high chant. I’ve known many a high lord who couldn’t bear sitting through even ten minutes of it. What did you really think would happen?”  
Thom chuckled softly and stroked pensively his white moustaches. “Well I suppose you’re right. I had to try it out at least once in public anyway. I won’t find another occasion to put my version of King Darith and the Fall of the House of Spring to the test in the coming months or even years, if ever. And of course this lot would not know that their land was once part of nations like Aelgar and Kharendor. Light, they might not even be aware that Tarmon Gai’don was fought and won!”

The truth was, the further south they had come after leaving the White Tower, the more ragged people had crossed their way. Winning the Last Battle had not suddenly brought food on their plates. There was still much work to be accomplished for the land to recover from the Dark One’s touch – from Shaitan’s touch: it was still hard to believe it was now possible to utter his name without fearing to bring his attention upon oneself. The help of the Dragon reborn would have been welcome, but the poor lad… Well, the time to weep for Rand’s sacrifice had passed. There were those tales of wonders happening here and there, mostly in the Two Rivers, of all places, but wishing and hoping did not harvest do, as the saying went. To most people’s eyes, the true wonder happening nearby was performed by the Seanchan, and more and more refugees marched west to seek the prosperity the former army of Artur Hawkwing seemed to offer anyone willing to swear their oaths.

The thought clouded over Thom’s mood as he went on in a softer pitch. “These people need to hear of that tale anyway, if not in high chant, I’m willing to grant you that. They need to be aware that their land was once home to a great nation that can spring to life again.”

“Learning about how their last great king barely survived Guaire Amalasan’s conquest of the south before being beaten by Artur Hawkwing might not help raise their hopes that much, however much I share your passion for the lost history of the Shadow Coast”, Moiraine replied, in a new version of the soft argument they had on a daily basis ever since the decision had been made, although both were convinced of the necessity of their quest. Not that either one’s resolve needed any strengthening after the whole scheme had been approved and formalised by the Amyrlin Seat herself. No one could ever have called Cadsuane Sedai meek, but on her coming to power in the White Tower, she had become a truly formidable woman. Her incredible, natural authority, that might have appeared wasted on the retired old Aes Sedai she never really had been, was now used to solve the world’s ailments. And from being suddenly sanctioned and supported by all Ajahs and the Amyrlin Seat herself, what had seemed an old man’s half-senile dream now was Thom’s private last battle, the immense project he would dedicate his last days to with the help of the woman he loved. Not a bad ending at all for an elderly gleeman, if a little overambitious perhaps. Shar Honelle would stand again and Aelgar, under the rule of a united White Tower, would flank the Seanchan Empire by its southern borders.

Thom took a sip of wine before replying. “This is not what the story is all about, and you know it. The point is that Aelgar, and Kharendor after it, was known the world over not only for its Academy of Song, but also for the hospices it sheltered. Shar Honelle offered peace and protection to anyone. In people’s eyes, this is precisely what the Seanchan have to offer, and I can hardly blame them. Military assault alone will never shake the Empress’s power. If we are not willing to give our own peoples what the Seanchan readily provide them, we do not stand a chance. That’s what Aelgar and its Yellow Ajah hospices will stand for, and that’s why the tale of King Darith from the House of Spring has to be told. The Light bless the day Tirza Sedai came to me with the remains of that old manuscript.”

Moiraine smiled slightly. “Yes, the Brown sisters outdid themselves for once. But then all Ajahs now seem to have taken in the necessity to join forces. We all have so much to atone for. How could the White Tower have lingered for so long with every sister revelling so shamelessly in selfishness and secrecy? Yet for all the good the Amyrlin Seat’s reforms have undoubtedly brought, I still feel slightly uneasy about a nation being openly ruled by an Aes Sedai.”

“You’re not any Aes Sedai, my love”, Thom replied. “You were raised to rule in Cairhien, you were the Dragon Reborn’s most trusted councillor, you vanquished Lanfear at her strongest and your decisions will be backed by white sisters. Besides, this will hardly be a first. Elayne is already ruling in Andor and so will soon Nyneave in Malkier. But most important, there has been no nation to speak of on the Shadow Coast in a thousand years. You won’t be taking over an established country. You’ll be creating one. Manetheren, New Aelgar… That is a good lineage to choose if there was ever one.” Some part of the gleeman felt like laughing hysterically. There had been a time when he loathed anything that had to do with the One Power, and here he was now, trying to convince an Aes Sedai that it was all right for her to rule a country on her own. How time and love could change a man’s heart.

Moiraine nodded thoughtfully. “It’s just… I suppose it’s difficult to shake lifelong habits off. And I have never felt nearly this excited about anything since the day Gitara Moroso had her Foretelling. It’s somewhat against the natural order of things to be allowed to feel twenty years old again. I will get over it.”

“You won’t have to if that flaming woman…” A glance at Moiraine confirmed what the bond said. “If Nimri Sedai doesn’t show up soon, I swear I’ll sit all day here and empty that innkeeper’s casks.” Instead he emptied his glass and stood up. “Let’s have a look again. Two days? What is taking her so long?”

Moiraine got to her feet as well, if in a more dignified way, and preceded Thom Merrilin to the door after leaving a silver stag on the table. “Gathering a small army on short notice can prove a difficult task, even for Rodel Ituralde himself”, she explained quietly as they went out and headed down the main street towards the southern end of the village. The thatched houses had not been tended to in years and the street wasn’t paved, but the last rain was at least a week gone, so Moiraine didn’t have to keep her riding dress up while she walked. “Ituralde did not fancy himself a ruler, but his loyalty to his country was such that he felt deeply conflicted. He spent months trying to decide whether he would accept the Tower’s proposal to make him Arad Doman’s next ruler. I think he saw our proposal as a way out of this conundrum, all the more because it involved fighting the Seanchan at some point, thus giving Arad Doman some relief. We will certainly need his skills as a general in the years to come.”

As they left the village, Moiraine and Thom approached a wide, empty field flanked by a river on one side and a small wood on the other. To the north-east, the first hills of the Mountains of Mist rose gently. Far off to the south, snow-topped peaks appeared in the distance, inside the unclaimed territory of the Shadow Coast nearby. Riding some leagues to the east, one would enter Amadician land. The whole region was under Seanchan rule, but patrols were scarce this far from Tanchico and the information would take weeks to reach Seanchan command, if ever – but people would talk of this strange armed party that had come out of nowhere only to disappear due south. And they would know what its purpose was, Thom had seen to it. People would talk and the word would spread of a new realm ready to rise in the south, a land of peace and prosperity, away from the Seanchan, their strange ways and their fearsome beasts. Words had a way to win people’s hearts that weapons never could emulate.

He chuckled again to himself. “After twenty years spent on the roads, I have a wild land to conquer, a ruined city to build again, all of it in order to outflank a menacing empire, with the help of one of the greatest captains ever and under the beloved command of my wife, who happens to be an Aes Sedai the world owes a huge debt to… Come to think of it, Jain Farstrider was not much younger than I am now when he first went off to live his adventures. And he was certainly much older when he lived his last one.” He put his arm around Moiraine’s shoulders. “In fact, it sounds very much like the beginning of a tale of old, only more insane. Too bad Loial can’t be around to write it down.”  
Moiraine didn’t answer, but he could feel her amusement. He was about to add something when a fine vertical line appeared in the air around the middle of the empty field nearby. The line became a circle through which a small woman passed and stood beside. The hole grew wider, until a man mounted on a horse followed. His finely trimmed moustache and a compelling sense of command let easily forget the fact that he was even shorter than the woman. He made way for about two hundred armed soldiers to enter, followed closely by several dozen horsemen.

Several villagers were watching the scene from afar, their number soon growing. Moiraine slowly slipped from her husband’s soft embrace, but before she strode off to meet Rodel Ituralde and the yellow sister, she turned to him. “Thom, do you think you will be able to piece the poem together again?”

The gleeman kept silent for a moment. “I am certainly working on it. I know for sure there are at least fifty other verses, but their definite form will always remain uncertain. The content is pretty clear though, and I’ve told it before, though never in high chant of course. After conquering the whole western part of the continent, Guaire Amalasan approached Kharendor. Darith gathered his people up in the mountains around Shar Honelle. There was a network of caves from the hundreds of years of mining that had occurred there. After emptying the city, he lured Amalasan in underground combats where the false dragon could not use the One Power safely, not if he wanted to avoid crushing his own army and himself from the falling of an entire mountainside in the process. Amalasan lingered a few weeks there, losing men by the hundreds, until he lost patience, half destroyed Shar Honelle out of spite and went on eastbound.”

Thom’s gaze wandered towards the Shadow Coast and its white peaks shining in the evening sun. He seemed deep in thought, as though taken in his own account of events that had taken place more than a thousand years ago. “Then Darith did his best to rebuild his capital city and take care of his people, but it was an arduous task if there was ever one. Guaire Amalasan’s men had looted the land and left little but ruins and ashes. In Shar Honelle itself, the hospices, the Academy and most palaces were now nothing but wild heaps of stone. Before long, Amalasan was defeated by Artur Hawkwing, who then started his own conquest of the world. When the time came, Kharendor, weaker than ever before, fell to the great man, even though he had gallantly accepted Darith’s proposal to settle the conflict in a duel in order to spare his people more devastation. Darith died and it was the end of Kharendor. In the span of two years, its entire population had flown and left it to rot in oblivion.”

Moiraine nodded, as though answering an unspoken question. “And now we will rebuild it, with the help of the Ogiers from stedding Mardoon and Shadoon. This is the beginning of a new age, Thom, my love, and we are at the heart of it. Rand really has destroyed the world again, but it might turn out it was for the best, if we have any say in it.” She kissed him and turned towards Nimri Sedai, who was coming her way.

Thom watched as the two short women discussed some technical matter. All around them, a small army was already gathered and ready for departure. There was no turning back beyond this point. Someone brought Thom’s horse and the gleeman climbed on the saddle.  
“The beginning of a new era,” he said to himself, stroking his moustaches. “I like that.”


End file.
